A/N: Hiya, friends! Welcome back! This chapter is about 50/50 in regards to timing... the first half-ish is written in Spencer's own 'present' time, and the rest is part of the story that leads up to Spencer's 'present' situation. There's a fair amount of backstory to this tale, so for future reference for this chapter and all subsequent chapters, sections of the story that are completely in italics take place in the past, and normal, non-italicized text takes place in the present.

As always, thanks for reading! The characters and I are pleased to have you here with us.

All my love,
Cynthia

PS — I know 0 words in Irish Gaelic, so the little Gaelic part of this chapter comes from Google translate. Sorry in advance if you're a Gaelic speaker and I offend you by representing your language terribly!

October 31st, 2017

"There'd be no ties of time and space to bind me / and no horizon I could not pursue / I'd leave the world's misfortunes far behind me / I'd put my faith and trust in something new." — "Enchantment Passing Through" from Aida

By the time the BAU arrives at the scene of the third fire set by an arsonist in Springfield, the local fire department has already doused the flames. Then, it's just a matter of waiting for the heat inside to dissipate enough to go in and investigate.

Spencer and Emily walk slowly around the perimeter of the building, looking for signs of forced entry and finding none. What they do find is a message crudely written in ash on one of the building's exterior walls: "Buaimse agus beidh an bua agam i gcónaí." The fadas and the words themselves originate from Irish Gaelic, if Spencer isn't completely missing the mark; unfortunately, Gaelic is not one of the numerous languages that he has a working knowledge of, so the team will have to wait for a translator to convert the characters back to a language they understand enough to profile.

"You know," Spencer speculates, "this could be related to Halloween."

"Sort of like that Devil's Night case we worked with that arsonist in Detroit? I could see that. Do you think this M.O. is similar enough to that one that we might be looking at the same pathology?"

"Mm, maybe, maybe not," Spencer muses. "I'm sure you recall that the unsub in Detroit was just using Devil's Night to cover his genuine motivations, and murder was the goal there, not arson. Kaman Scott was a wound collector rather than a true arsonist. This case could very well go beyond that to the holiday itself, though."

Spencer is thinking out loud as he goes, forming a working theory on the spot. "Halloween as we know it today is pre-dated by the Gaelic festival of Samhain. The Celtic day goes from sunset to sunset rather than beginning and ending at midnight, so traditionally, Samhain is celebrated from the evening of October 31st into the evening of November 1st. Bonfires have historically been a big part of that celebration, which has carried over into the way Americans—some of whom are descended from Celts and inherited some of their cultural traditions—commemorate Halloween."

Emily's face becomes thoughtful as she listens, and when Spencer finishes, she shrugs, unconvinced. "Maybe," she concedes, "but one, I wouldn't call a handful of burned-down apartment buildings a 'bonfire', and two, it isn't sundown yet."

"You're right if we're talking about this time zone, because sundown isn't for three-and-a-half more hours, but the sun has already set in Scotland, Ireland, and the Isle of Man… which are all claimed to be the ancestral homeland of the Celts that originally celebrated Samhain. I know the Halloween theory is a stretch, I'm just saying that given todays date, our unsub's choice of destructive weapon seems too pointed to be ruled out as coincidental at this stage."

"No, you're right. He's definitely a symphorophiliac, though, one way or another. This unsub doesn't seem to be burning people intentionally, though; the first building was under renovation and was empty, and this one should have been evacuated with plenty of warning since the fire started pretty slowly," Emily decides. "The unsub is obviously learning as he goes in relation to the speed and destructive capability of his fires. The only reason we lost a victim to the second fire is that Rosemary Holt was mobility impaired and couldn't get out in time. Everyone else had time to evacuate."

"Yeah," Spencer agrees, frowning. "There wasn't as much warning here, but the fire was still slow-spreading. That didn't make it any less lethal—by the time the building's residents were aware of what was happening, several of them were trapped because the stairs they needed to go down were burning to the point of total destruction."

"Exactly. I'd say it's pretty clear that our unsub is developing some homicidal tendencies… another four people are dead, so it's entirely possible that he intentionally made escape possible for the residents on the top floor. The alternative is that he just doesn't care about who dies, but I don't think that's the case here, not with that message written on the wall. At least some of these people are dying because the unsub is targeting them or their neighbors. The unsub was also being cautious at first, and now he isn't, which means this streak is accelerating. In case you're onto something with the Samhain angle, though, I'll have Garcia look into that, and until we—"

Emily is interrupted by Spencer's phone ringing in his pocket, and he holds up a finger to ask her to pause. "I'm so sorry," he mutters, digging the device out. It's a number he doesn't recognize, and he looks back at Emily. "I need to take this. Give me just a second, please?"

"Sure, take your time."

Then Spencer wanders away a few feet as he accepts the call, speaking into his cell this time. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Spencie!"

There's only one person who calls him that, and Spencer really wishes that she wouldn't.

He makes an involuntary face of displeasure and turns away from Emily, retreating a few more steps and wishing he'd stepped away entirely to take the call. "What do you want, Cat?" he asks with a sigh.

"Is that any way to greet the mother of your child?"

The fake pout in her voice is irritating; Spencer knows that she's enjoying this, just as she's enjoyed every forced interaction they've had for the past six months.

"What do you want?" he repeats, frowning.

"You used to be more fun than this," Cat complains. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you don't like me."

Spencer sighs. "Where'd you even get a phone? Last time I checked, they weren't allowed in prisons—at least not for inmates." The question is rhetorical, though, and he goes on without waiting for an answer. "I'm on a case, though, so please—save me the song and dance and just tell me why you're calling."

"Don't you want to—"

After a moment of unexpected silence, Spencer pulls his phone away from his ear to stare at the screen. The call hasn't dropped, and he still has plenty of cell service—Cat has just gone silent.

"Cat?"

It's another twenty-eight seconds before she responds; he has just begun to consider hanging up when Cat speaks again. "My nurse took pity on me," she says, and her voice sounds… off, somehow. It's tight, almost as if she's in pain. "Really, given your world-famous IQ, that should be all the hint you need. Why do you think I'm calling?"

It doesn't take Spencer more than half a second to understand what she means. "Did something happen, or are you in labor?"

"Ding, ding, ding—we have a winner!" Cat, as always, sounds sardonic. "I figured you'd want to know. You're welcome."

Spencer feels a marked uptick in the rate his heart is beating at, and he takes a deep breath and let it out. "Are you at the hospital yet, or still in the prison infirmary? How far dilated are you? How far apart are your contractions, and how long—"

"I'm not going to read you my medical chart, Spencie. If you want answers, how about you come get them for yourself?"

"You want me there?" Spencer is surprised, but maybe he shouldn't be. This wouldn't be the first time Cat has suddenly changed the rules on him. She's been putting up roadblocks from the very beginning, toying with him.

He can almost hear her rolling her eyes. "Well, if you don't want to be—"

"No, no, I—I do. I really do," Spencer cuts in quickly, swallowing past a sudden dry feeling in his throat. "Where are you?"

"You're the profiler. Figure it out."

Before he can ask another question, Spencer hears the click of his call being ended. Well, so much for that conversation.

He pockets the phone and looks up at Emily, who has wandered a few feet away, ostensibly to give him privacy. She doesn't glance in his direction again until he clears his throat. "I, um, I need to go," he tells her, suddenly quite full of anxious energy.

"That was Cat, wasn't it?" Emily seems to have dropped the pretense of tuning out the call, and she's grinning at him.

"Yeah, it was. She's in labor."

"Thought that was what it sounded like. Well, of course you can leave—go on, get out of here! We'll manage without you."

"Are you sure? I—"

Spencer stops talking when Emily wraps him in an unexpected hug. "The BAU can do without Dr. Reid," she tells him warmly as he hugs her back, breathing a laugh, "but your daughter needs her father. I know none of this has been easy—but you're ready."

Spencer gives his friend a slight squeeze and steps back. "Alright. I, um…" He feels lost for a moment, thinking through the logistics of getting home and wondering if he'll make it in time. There's a drive time of approximately eighteen minutes to reach the airport from where he is now, factoring in average traffic conditions at this time of day, and unfortunately, he doesn't know the Springfield to D.C. flight schedule. He'd made an error in assuming that the baby wouldn't come early, or at least not this early, and he hadn't prepared for it happening on this trip.

He should have known better, but there's nothing he can do about that now.

"What don't you call Garcia, Spence?" Emily suggests. "Let her help you work out the logistics."

"Right…" Spencer pulls his phone out one more time.

Ready or not, there's a baby coming now. It's time to get to work.

Clara is on I-85 somewhere just past Charlotte when her phone rings, and she takes her eyes off of the road and fiddles with the device just long enough to read the name on its caller ID.

Spencer Reid.

It takes a second of juggling, but Clara manages to get the call answered and set to speaker mode without dropping the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Clara."

"Hiya," she replies with a smile.

"This is Spencer," continues the man on the other end of the line.

Clara waits a beat or two, but Spencer doesn't say anything further. "Yeah, I thought so, given the name on my phone's caller ID," she remarks lightly after waiting one more moment to see if he'll volunteer anything else. She wonders what's going on. "Is everything okay?"

He sounds frazzled in a way that surprises her, because although she doesn't know him particularly well yet, he has come across as fairly put-together in the short time she has spent with him so far.

"Yeah," Spencer replies, "it's just… are you still planning to move in this weekend?"

"Mhm. I'm on my way now, actually."

"Oh! That's—um, that's good."

"Yeah?"

"The baby's coming. Now. She's sixteen days early—or she will be if she's born before midnight, that is."

"Wow! Okay, that's exciting! No wonder you sound a little out of it." The tease is gentle and hesitant, but something tells Clara that her new boss won't mind a little well-meant levity.

"I'm sorry, I'm just…"

"You've got bigger fish to fry," she finishes for him, letting him off the hook. "You're just fine, don't worry. Well, I'm about six hours out from Washington. I should be there this evening."

"That's great. Thanks, Clara. Really, I had meant to be there when you moved in and help out where I could with whatever you might need, but then we got this case… and ideally, you would have those last couple of weeks to get settled before I brought the baby—"

"Spencer?" Clara interrupts.

"Yeah?"

"It's fine," she repeats, smiling. "Don't worry about me. Really, we established from the beginning that this was going to be a bit of an oddly structured job, right? Something tells me this isn't the last time plans will go a little off course. I promise, I can roll with the punches."

"You have no idea how comforting that is to hear." Spencer sounds like he really means it.

Clara chuckles. "Don't worry about me, okay? Worry about that baby girl of yours. I can't wait to meet her."

"Me, either. I'm at the airport now, making my way home. Hopefully, I'll make it in time."

"Did you wrap your case up?"

"No, but my team can finish without me."

The two of them had been in sporadic communication over the last week and a half or so; Clara had received and signed her employment contract, received a set of keys for the apartment, and established when she'd be officially making the move to Washington. Then, very early this morning, Spencer had texted to say that a case was taking him out of town and consequently, there was a very strong probability that he wouldn't be around when she arrived at the apartment with all of her things. That was alright, she had assured him then—just as she's assuring him now.

Clara prides herself on being fairly self-sufficient.

"Well, I have faith—you'll get to Washington with time to spare. Labor is a pretty lengthy process, most of the time."

"Yes, especially if you're measuring from start to finish. If you're taking into account early, active, and transition phases, the average labor lasts between thirteen and nineteen hours," Spencer explains. "In this case, though, I think Cat—um, the baby's mother, I mean—is already in active labor. Active labor is considerably shorter than early labor for most women, the average for that stage alone being five to eight hours. I got a call about Cat being in labor one hour and fourteen minutes ago, and today's fastest flight time from Springfield, Missouri, where I am right now, to a D.C.-area airport—including a connection in Chicago—will take approximately four hours and twenty minutes. That's a total of five hours and thirty-four minutes from my phone ringing to my flight touching down at Reagan, and that's if everything goes exactly as it should. Then I also have to get into the city and to the hospital. It could honestly go either way… Maybe I'll get there in time, maybe I'll won't; there are just too many variables to say for sure."

Again, Clara waits a beat after this monologue before speaking. "Oh, right."

"What?"

"I forgot that you know everything."

Spencer laughs, and Clara is glad to hear him relax a little. He sounds stressed, and she can't say she doesn't understand it. "I don't know everything," he argues, "but I do know the statistics of childbirth. I've done a lot of research."

"Something tells me you've done a lot of research on a lot of things."

"That… may not be entirely inaccurate."

Clara grin, but before she can say anything else, Spencer speaks again. "My flight just started boarding—I have to go. Please, though, let me know if you have any issues on your way to Washington or when you make it to the apartment. I'll be available during my layover and then again once I land on my way home."

"Got it. I'm sure everything will be fine, though; trust me! And please, when you're able, can you keep me updated about the baby?"

"Absolutely," Spencer promises. "Talk to you later."

"Bye. Spencer. Good luck!"

Clara's new employer ends the call, and she sets her phone aside. It looks like she's about to hit the ground running.

Spencer checks his phone again in Chicago as soon as he's allowed to turn it back on, and there are no notifications. He hadn't really expected any, but still, it's something of a relief; he's sure that if he misses the birth, Cat will find a way to rub it in his face. She, after all, delights in torturing him in any situation. He's well aware that 'torture' is the general inspiration behind this entire saga. She found a way to accumulate nearly six months' worth of situations in which she has the upper hand.

It's truly unfortunate that today, he has no choice but to follow her lead. Until the baby has been safely removed from her person, she holds all the cards.

That's been true from the beginning, though.

Spencer has often wondered how long Cat planned this before manipulating Lindsey into making it happen… it had to have started months before what happened in Matamoros, at the very least. If he had to guess, he'd say that she started to plot the moment she was loaded into the back of a prisoner transport van and discovered that he had lied about finding her father. Cat may have a considerable number of mental health issues that turned her into the lethal killer that she is today, but she isn't stupid. She had to know that she wasn't getting out of prison, and what could she do with her time in lockup that was more worthwhile than playing the long game to punish the man who put her there?

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Spencer had told her at the time, aware that he had lost control of the situation and doing everything in his power to get it back. "A chance to finally hurt the man who deserves it?"

"They all deserve it," she had answered acerbically.

"He deserves it the most."

Surely, Spencer is the one who 'deserves it the most' now, in Cat's eyes. Ensnaring her into a trap had been his idea. He'd lied to her first by pretending to want to hire her to kill his invented pregnant wife, knowing she wouldn't be able to resist attempting to murder him instead—of course, there's a certain amount of irony in that cover story now, given the circumstances. He wonders if that has occurred to Cat yet; maybe it was intentional, maybe not. It's always difficult to tell with her.

After telling him in that interrogation room at her prison that she was pregnant with his child, she had backed off quickly. The BAU as a whole had concluded that the baby was actually fathered by prison guard Lionel Wilkins, who had then been manipulated into both helping Cat and making Spencer's life more difficult.

Wilkins' involvement in the baby's conception had—at the time—seemed too easy for Spencer's liking, too convenient. It all fit too neatly, didn't it? Cat's plans may be elegant in nature, but even she has her limits.

Now, as soon as Spencer settles into seat 21A on his connecting flight from Chicago to D.C., he thinks back on when he first came to question the BAU's conclusions, during the period of time in which the BAU was on a mandated leave from work.

May 11th, 2017

For a while, Spencer tries to convince himself that the ring of truth he heard in Cat's words was just that she was telling the truth about being pregnant. That much, at least, is evident from her medical records at the prison. He certainly believes what he saw in her chart—Cat herself may lie through her teeth whenever she gets the chance, but human chorionic gonadotropin levels represent reliable fact.

Cat Adams is with child.

In the stress and absolute chaos following his liberation from prison, though, Spencer has a difficult time putting her taunts out of his mind.

Those thoughts take the back burner for a few days and then a week; the BAU is reeling from not just Spencer's own trauma but the difficulties with Mr. Scratch that immediately followed. Then there's Stephen's funeral, and six weeks of mandatory leave.

Spencer should use that leave to get his head on straight, to make sure his mother is alright and that he himself is, too, but instead, he can't stop thinking about Cat Fucking Adams.

He nearly wears a hole in the floor of his apartment pacing in the first few days after they bury Walker. Diana is there with him—though he's now forced to admit that she needs to be in a full-time care facility—but she's… quiet. Not very lucid. Spencer keeps himself calm when she's in the room, but as soon as she retreats to the bedroom again, he's back to walking miles around his living room. He can't seem to turn off his thoughts—maybe it's a lingering side effect of prolonged imprisonment that will fade with time, but maybe it's just who he is now, someone anxious and restless. The books and puzzles that used to hold his attention barely occupy his thoughts for a few minutes at a time.

In his mind, there's a map that he can see as clearly as if it's pinned to a murder board in front of him; it's a timeline and a web of connections, full of scowling faces that leer down at him. He goes through it all again and again:

1. Cat and Lindsey cross paths at some point. They kindle a relationship.

2. The BAU takes down the network of hitmen, culminating in the capture of Cat herself—among others. Spencer lies about finding Cat's father, and it works. Cat goes to prison, where she presumably starts plotting her revenge at once.

3. Cat's plan begins to take shape. She enlists the assistance of her girlfriend Lindsey, and the latter puts in the legwork that Cat herself can't complete from behind bars. This involves stalking Spencer and tracking his travels as he throws himself into helping his mother.

4. Spencer goes to Mexico and Lindsey, following, murders Nadie Ramos. Here's where things are still a little fuzzy: despite the breakthroughs he experienced in two days of cognitive interviews with Tara, he can't remember past a certain point. Lindsey certainly drugged him, convinced him to spread his fingerprints and DNA amongst the evidence in the motel room, and enticed him into chasing her in a car full of heroin and cocaine. He can't say with any certainty what else she did.

5. Cat found another 'father' for her baby, though biological or perceived remains to be seen. Wilkins the prison guard—now dead—could be (and ostensibly is) the one who impregnated Cat.

Why can't Spencer accept that Wilkins is the father?

Well… he knows the answer to his own anxiety, though he's loathe to admit it. He's afraid to trust what the team has deduced because Cat is perhaps the most conniving person he's ever met. Before Wilkins was shot, he almost certainly thought himself the father of the baby, and Cat must have told him that he was—just as she told Spencer the same thing. She lied to one of them. Spencer just can't be sure of which one of them it was.

Accepting that he's never going to find peace of mind until he gets to the bottom of this unsettling mystery once and for all, Spencer sets off to do what he does best…

Research.

May 29th, 2017

It feels deeply wrong to voluntarily walk into a prison again so soon after being released from one—and this time, Spencer doesn't have JJ at his side, nor does he have the advantages of her badge… but if he wants answers, he has no choice but to return to Mount Pleasant. He's reminded of the Biblical tale of Daniel walking into a lion's den; a sensation of heavy dread that's surely reminiscent of that particular fable sits in his stomach.

Still, he marches toward the visitor's area of the prison with a determined air, and the bored-looking guard checking people in asks who he's there to see.

"Catherine Adams."

The guard looks up from his computer suspiciously. "She's never had an outside visitor before."

"And it's little wonder why," Spencer mutters sardonically under his breath, too low for the guard to hear. Then, louder: "Well, there's a first time for everything."

"What's your name?"

"Spencer Reid."

"You're not on her approved visitor's list."

Spencer purses his lips. "Look," he says, lowering his voice and leaning in slightly, "I understand that there's a protocol that you have to follow here, but please—I need to see her. Can you at least ask her if she'd be willing to meet with me? I'm sure she'll say yes."

He can see the guard hesitate; what Spencer is asking him to do is almost certainly against the rules, and he has no reason at all to help… but Cat Adams has—if nothing else—a reputation that precedes her. The guard is clearly interested in breaking up the monotony of his day by indulging in a little curiosity about the notorious hitwoman.

Spencer knows from experience that prison guards gossip just as much as anyone else.

"Alright," the guard answers finally. "Wait here." He gives Spencer a look and rises from his desk, disappearing from view for several minutes.

Spencer stands back a few feet and puts his hands in his pockets, rotating slightly to take in his surroundings. He makes note of the entrances and exits, taking care to know which are open and which require a guard's key.

It doesn't matter that this is a women's prison. It still looks, smells, and sounds so similar to Milburn, and he hates being here. He hates Cat for once again putting him in a situation that requires being here, but now's hardly the time to examine those feelings too closely.

The guard comes back and makes eye contact with Spencer, nodding toward a door to his right. It's go time.

Spencer is taken to an interrogation room that feels all too familiar; it looks just like the one he was in with Cat here a few weeks ago, and it resembles the ones at his prison, too. There's power in being on the law enforcement side of the table, though, and he wonders just how often this room is used for normal visitation. He's never had much cause to visit prisoners outside of directly work-related situations; he isn't exactly keen on starting now.

He doesn't have long to wonder, though, because it's only two minutes and nineteen more seconds before Spencer can hear the door unlocking—he speculates that Cat's cell must be close by.

Then the time for speculation is over.

"Spencie!" Cat greets him, grinning like a housecat as she's brought to the other side of the table and left there. If she's surprised to see him, she shows no outwards signs of it.

"Cat," he replies tersely, nodding at the guard.

Ten seconds later, they're alone.

"I'm flattered that you'd come all the way back here to spend ]time with little old me," Cat comments after a moment of silence. "I didn't even kidnap anyone this time—allegedly, of course."

Spencer sighs. "Drop the act. You know why I'm here."

"Do I?" Her expression is one of feigned innocence.

"Yes. I think you do."

"And that would be…?"

Spencer leans in toward her and lowers his voice, unimpressed. "The last time I was here—before we thwarted you and rescued my mom, that is—you told me that you were pregnant. Now, my team is largely of the opinion that Lionel Wilkins fathered your baby, but you also told me that it was mine. I think Wilkins made the perfect patsy for you, and I know your propensity for emotional manipulation… so I'm not sure this isn't another one of your games."

"If I was playing a game, I would have invited you here," Cat points out, her voice a little drier now. "You probably remember how it goes."

"I do, and that's beside the point," Spencer says, shaking his head. "I want you to give me a straight answer. Is there even a chance that your baby is mine?"

"I'm sure you've already calculated the odds in your head without my help."

"Impossible to calculate without knowing all the important variables," Spencer disagrees. "When I was in Mexico, did you have Lindsey…" He trails off, and Cat latches onto the first sign of discomfort that he's shown since she walked in.

"Did I have Lindsey what, Spencie?" she taunts.

It takes all of Spencer's willpower to keep his expression neutral. "Did you have her rape me?"

Cat shrugs in lieu of commenting, leaning back in her chair.

"That's not an answer."

"You said it yourself. I enjoy... games. Why would I just tell you what you want to know? What would I get out of that?"

Spencer inclines his head toward the door. "The minute I call him back here, the guard will let me go. You'll be stuck here—stuck to rot indefinitely, as you should be. If I walk out that door without any answers, I'm not coming back. Doesn't matter whose baby you're incubating. You'll lose the one thing you were really striving for when you kidnapped my mother—my attention. I'll leave, and that will be the last you'll see of me. Forever."

"You're bluffing."

"I'm not."

"And what if my baby is yours? Hm, what then? Would you abandon your kid just because I didn't say all the right words?"

"No, of course not. That wouldn't happen. You know the stakes now, and you're a smart girl, Cat… I think you understand that I'm being serious. If you genuinely think I'm the father of your baby, you'll stop holding your cards to your chest and you'll tell me. Otherwise, you'll lose the opportunity to hold this over my head, and you'd never give up an advantage like that. If I leave, I'll know the answer, whether you say another word to me or not."

For once, this is met with complete silence; Cat is pouting, and while Spencer doesn't believe for a damn second that he's won already, he knows he's struck a nerve. His real advantage here is that while he'd happily go the rest of his life without seeing her again, she seems to be seriously fixated on him, for whatever reason. He has what she wants, and she has what he wants, too: information. She won't let him leave while they're at an impasse.

Still, though, she doesn't reply, and Spencer shakes his head. "Alright, then," he says, rising to his feet. "I guess I have my answer. Have a nice life, Cat."

He starts for the door.

"Wait."

He pauses, not turning around; he allows himself just a split second to smile privately before setting his face back to neutral and turning around. "Yes?"

"There's a possibility."

"Of…?" he prompts.

"The baby."

"What about it?"

"It could be yours."

The way she emphasizes 'could' gives him pause, and he wonders if it's possible for her to genuinely not know. "Could?"

"Could be Wilkins'."

"Did he think it was his?"

"How else do you think I convinced him to help me?"

Spencer doesn't bother answering that one. "So in Mexico…"

"Lindsey did exactly what I told you she did."

As expected, there's a total lack of remorse in her voice; dosing Spencer, having Lindsey pretend to be Maeve… that had just been another part of her master plan. He'll deal with his feelings about that later.

"What's the difference in timing between that and having unprotected sex with Lionel Wilkins?"

Cat makes a face as if she's thinking hard, searching back in her memory for the answer—Spencer's pretty sure that's just for dramatic effect. For her plan to work, the events of several months ago had to be precisely scheduled, so there's no way she doesn't know.

"Three days," she finally answers.

It's difficult to hear any deception in her voice, leading Spencer to believe that—at least on this one detail—she's telling the truth. "So it is possible," he deduces.

"That's exactly what I just said, isn't it?"

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't take you at your word, Cat," Spencer snaps, then shakes his head, reigning in his temper.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Prove it. One way or another."

"You want a paternity test?"

"I do."

Cat stares at him for several more seconds, and from the way her eyes narrow, the way her mouth sets and her nose twitches… Spencer can tell that she's trying to find a way to string him along further without giving him any definitive answers. It's with a sense of relief that he sees her giving in—for now, at least.

"Fine."

"You'll do it?"

"I'm assuming you know how it works?"

"Yes."

"Then let's do it."

Her smile turns just a hair too smug again, telling Spencer that she's uncertain. The baby's father really could be either one of the named possibilities; Cat isn't sure what result they'll get. This is a gamble for her, something that's surely exciting for a psychopath with little day-to-day stimulation. Maybe this will be the end of it, or maybe this is the beginning of an entirely new tete-a-tete between the two of them.

Either way, it's time to find out.